No More Blood for My Cheating Wife

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As a private investigator, I recently took a case to investigate a man named Brian Wright for infidelity.

To my horror, the woman I caught him with was my own wife, Sarah Kinsey.

In that moment, my heart shattered.

An overseas mercenary organization had contacted me before, inviting me to join their reconnaissance camp. Now, I decided to accept their offer.

For the past seven years, I had anonymously donated blood to Sarah, like her personal blood bank.

But from this moment on, I would never do it again.

I arrived at the address the client provided in Willow Creek Estates. Brian Wright was locked in a passionate embrace with a woman.

I pulled out my phone and started recording.

Their emotions were raw, intense. The woman sat up halfway, and it was my wife, Sarah Kinsey.

My legs gave out. I stumbled backward, barely catching myself.

My colleague, Mike, saw her too. He hesitated. "Boss, maybe you should hand this case off. Let someone else take it."

I shook my head, fighting back a surge of pain.

Client satisfaction was the standard in this business.

Brian was aggressively taking his pleasure from Sarah, his voice a low growl. "How does he compare to your husband?"

Sarahs voice trembled with pleasure. "He can't even touch you."

"Brian, Brian, you're the best."

It felt like forever before they finally quieted.

Brian toyed with her hand, his eyes on her wedding ring. "That ring makes my skin crawl," he said.

Sarah giggled, pulling off the ring and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket.

I expected them to part ways after that, but they immediately moved on to a second round.

Sarah fumbled with a box, but it was empty. No condoms.

Brian asked anxiously, "What do we do?"

Sarah shrugged, nonchalant. "Just go for it. I'll take the morning-after pill."

My heart felt like it was being hammered by a sledgehammer. The pain was excruciating.

I had loved her more than life itself.

I would have suffocated myself before ever risking her safety.

Yet, she gave herself so completely, so carelessly, to another man.

She suffered from a serious blood disorder, and her periods were incredibly heavy. A miscarriage or childbirth could easily kill her.

That's why I had always been so careful, so meticulous, about birth control. I'd rather endure any discomfort myself than put her at risk.

She needed two blood transfusions every month, and her rare Rh-negative blood type made it incredibly difficult to find a match.

I happened to share her blood type.

Every month, I went to donate twice, 400ml each time, specifically for her. To ease her conscience, I always remained anonymous.

The woman I cherished above all else was allowing another man to degrade her this way.

Lost in my memories, my phone buzzed. A text message. "Darling, my friend needs a morning-after pill. Could you pick up a box of Plan B and drop it off at Willow Creek Estates?"

The pain spread through my entire body. My hands clenched involuntarily. Sweat beaded on my forehead and across my skin.

"Sarah," Brian murmured, "what if your husband finds out?"

He looked at her, his eyes shining with anticipation for her answer.

"Heh," she scoffed, "even if I cheated with ten different guys, he'd still never leave me."

Yes, I had once told her, "Sarah, let's never part. I can't live without you."

But back then, Sarah had loved me just as fiercely.

She was a ruthless CEO in public, but at home, she cooked for me, made my bed. One time, when I had a fever, she stayed awake for three days and nights, nursing me back to health.

But that was then. This was now.

When I delivered the Plan B to the villa, Brian opened the door.

His eyes held a playful glint. "The woman inside is quite the wildcat."

His cologne, thick and cloying, assaulted my nostrils.

I lowered my head, hiding my clenched fists, and hurried away.

Sarah had promised to love me forever, to never betray me.

I had planned to be her blood bank for life.

Her betrayal meant my plans had to change.

I opened my email. To the mercenary organization's invitation, I clicked "Accept."

They needed excellent reconnaissance operatives; I needed to leave this heartache behind.

Departure in five days.

Back home, I drank alone.

Seven years of love, three years of marriage, a lifetime of plansall reduced to this.

Sarah came home just as I was about to pass out.

Seeing me drink, she asked anxiously, "David, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

As she leaned in, the cloying scent of Brian's cologne still clung to her.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I pushed her away and stumbled to the bathroom.

Her eyes flickered with a fleeting panic.

I vomited violently into the toilet.

She followed close behind, gently patting my back.

"Don't drink so much, it's bad for your stomach. You'll break my heart if you keep doing this."

How could she switch from one man to another so effortlessly?

"I'll go make you some hangover soup."

By the time I emerged, the soup was ready. She stirred it impatiently, trying to cool it down.

Sitting on the sofa, she spoon-fed me. I stared at her fingers. She was wearing a ring strikingly similar to her wedding band. But when she extended her hand, I saw a small "Brian" engraved on the inside of the palm-side of the band.

She'd tossed her wedding ring for another man's.

Good.

The pain of love was like being flayed alive. The more thoroughly I peeled off these layers now, the less it would hurt later.

Noticing the detached look in my eyes, she asked, concerned, "Have I not been spending enough time with you? Work's been so busy lately, I've neglected you. Tomorrow, I'll go with you to pick out a suit. Our third anniversary is coming up soon. We'll celebrate properly."

She picked up a warm towel and wiped my face. As she bent down, her loose neckline revealed a constellation of marks on her chest.

I grabbed her, trying to tear open her clothes.

She quickly covered herself with her hands. "David, you've had too much to drink. It's not good for you. You need to rest, okay? Be a good boy."

Her initial panic quickly melted into a soft, affectionate tone. She thought I was trying to initiate sex, but I only wanted to expose the bite marks on her skin.

Normally, her words would have touched me, making me feel cherished. But today, I knew she was just trying to hide the evidence of her betrayal.

While she was in the bathroom, her phone buzzed on the table. A text message. "You little wildcat. You drained me dry today."

I didn't move. I just stared blankly until the screen went dark again.

After cleaning the bathroom, she helped me into bed, gently changed me into my pajamas, and tucked me in. She even took my soiled clothes to wash.

Beside me, she continued to play the role of the devoted wife.

If there were an Oscar for Best Actress, she would win it hands down.

The next day, at the tailor's, as I was getting measured for my new suit, her phone rang. It was Brian.

"Wildcat, I'm craving you. Come find me."

She glanced at me furtively, thinking I couldn't hear.

But I was once an elite reconnaissance operative; my hearing was exceptional. My hands clenched instinctively, my body tensing.

She approached me, feigning nonchalance. But the flush on her cheeks betrayed her eagerness.

"David, something urgent came up at the office. I have to go. Once you're done with your fitting, meet me at the top floor of Riverbend Tower. I've booked us a table for lunch."

I grabbed her hand. "Can't you skip it? You promised to spend the day with me."

Even though I had decided to leave, watching her abandon me for another man still twisted my gut.

She gently peeled my fingers off hers. "Company matters are critical. I'll be back as soon as I can. Wait for me."

With that, she hugged my waist and hurried away.

I waited in the restaurant from sundown to dusk, through the flickering of city lights, until the entire city plunged into darkness. She never came.

I called her five times. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.

She came home at one in the morning. Thinking I was asleep, she didn't call out to me, going straight to the guest room.

I lay awake, replaying seven years of memories, sleep refusing to come.

She talked on the phone for a long time in the guest room, her voice a soft, seductive murmur. It was Brian, no doubt.

When I woke up, breakfast was already on the table. My favorite soft-boiled eggs.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice full of regret. "I was so busy at work yesterday, I didn't even make it to the restaurant. You're not mad at me, are you?"

She leaned in to kiss my forehead.

I reached for an egg, deftly avoiding her kiss.

She froze for a moment.

A flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

The thought of those lips, that had just been on another man, made me sick.

My mission for the day was still to follow her.

She went to the hospital for her transfusion. The man with his arm around her waist was Brian.

"I heard the same person has been donating blood for you all these years? Eight hundred milliliters a month? Who could that be?" Brian mused.

"Some idiot, I guess," Sarah scoffed. "Who else would give that much blood every month?"

If I hadn't loved her to the bone, I wouldn't have.

My doctors had repeatedly warned me about the dangers of donating so frequently.

But if I didn't donate, she wouldn't have any.

There were only two people in the entire city with her blood type. The other person had serious health issues and couldn't donate.

Brian pinched her side, under her shirt. "You should be grateful. What if he stops? What would you do?"

Sarah pinched Brian's butt in return. "Don't jinx it."

A while later, they emerged from the transfusion room.

Sarah's face was grim, her confusion evident.

"Why didn't he donate?" she asked, almost to herself. "He's never missed a single month in seven years. Once, during a massive blizzard, he still managed to get here. Something must be wrong this time."

She was theorizing.

I should have donated yesterday. I had originally planned to get my suit fitted, then donate one last time. A final, symbolic gesture.

But she had abandoned me for another man, so I canceled the appointment.

The blood center had called yesterday. I hadn't answered.

Sarah made a few calls. I heard her asking for the donor's name and number.

Whatever they told her on the other end, her face remained worried and disappointed.

Brian playfully flicked her nose. "Don't worry, honey. There's always a solution."

They walked, embraced, towards their car.

They both got into the back seat.

Through the tinted window, I saw Sarah pull Brian into her arms.

Soon, the car began to shake violently.

After a long time, or perhaps a short one, they got out.

Sarah's hair was disheveled, her clothes wrinkledclear signs of their recent lovemaking.

I couldn't bear to watch. Their affection was a dagger in my heart.

I looked down at my hand.

I stroked the wedding ring she had placed on my finger. The vows we had exchanged, once so moving, now filled me with disgust.

I pulled off the ring and tossed it into a trash can.

When I looked up, they were gone.